


young man, young man (your arm’s too short to box with God)

by hellhoundsprey



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Sam Winchester, Extremely Dubious Consent, First Time, M/M, Soulless Jack Kline, Top Jack Kline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:26:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27856729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellhoundsprey/pseuds/hellhoundsprey
Summary: Original Prompt: soulless!jack being utterly in love with sam and really wanting to fuck him and sam being like no no this is wrong but jack overpowers him and fucks him. sam likes it and also feels super guilty about how much he likes it.
Relationships: Jack Kline/Sam Winchester
Comments: 17
Kudos: 85





	young man, young man (your arm’s too short to box with God)

Jack had been better at hiding it, back when he had a soul, and, yeah, that’s a sentence.

It’s harder, now. Brushing the kid off, giving him (more or less firm) nos. When he looks back at Sam—not upset, but…puzzled. Analyzing. Trying to find ways to make Sam pliable, ways that will get Jack what Jack wants.

Which is Sam, apparently.

Jack corners him alone more and more often, just because he’s aware that maybe the worst thing about this for Sam is the possibility that Dean, or Cas, or anyone, might find out.

Kitchen. Library. Sam’s room.

Sam mumbles, “We shouldn’t,” with Jack hanging off his neck, his mouth. With Jack testing and practicing how to kiss him, how to swirl their tongues inside Sam’s mouth. How it feels best. How _anything_ feels.

Those curious eyes. Big and blue and his pupils are blown, and his cheeks are flushed, just from kissing. Sam huffs, rubs his too-big hands along Jack’s nimble waist. He tries half a smile, something coy and subtle because he’s still not used to Jack not picking up on these small things. But Jack is still in his lap even after Sam’s careful, “That’s, uhm, let’s call it a day, all right?”

A simple, “Hm. Let’s not.”

Sam doesn’t expect the kid to shove him, to make his back meet the bed.

Jack’s bed. Jack’s room.

Sam’s mouth opens, and he could—scream. Do something. Say something.

One of Jack’s hands is enough to pin him when he tries to push himself back up.

Sam chuckles, “Uhm,” and his throat feels tight, and Jack blinks down at him, happy. “That’s, uhm. Okay, what…? What do you wanna do, then?”

Jack informs, “A lot, actually,” and he ducks down to kiss Sam anew. Keeps his hand firm on Sam’s chest, _keeps Sam_ _down_ without much effort. Without his breath picking up; nothing.

The pressure has Sam gasping. Struggling.

“Jack,” he says, too-soft. Jack kisses the corner of his mouth, his chin—Sam closes his eyes, trembles.

Jack’s mouth dips deeper. To the side of Sam’s throat, Sam’s earlobe. Sam inhales through his nose, holds on.

Oh, God, he’s—squeezing the kid.

“Fuck,” he gasps, and, “sorry,” and his hands have moved up to cup those shoulders instead before Jack even rises to look at him again, search his face all oblivious. “Oh, didn’t that…? Uhm, right,” nods Sam, and Jack sits up, then.

Straddles Sam’s stomach, spans both of his hands on Sam’s chest. Looks down, fascinated.

Sam’s eyes flicker to the bulge in Jack’s jeans on sheer instinct; back up. He clears his throat. “Buddy… We really should…”

Easy, “No,” and Jack shifts his weight to his knees, lets his ass come off Sam’s stomach so he has his hands free to start fumbling with the buttons of Sam’s flannel.

Sam bucks, then.

Attempts a throw, a hold, something, but he can’t even weave his arm underneath Jack’s thigh before the Nephilim has already gripped his wrists, pushed him back down; hands cradled to his chest and trembling, and Jack just looks at him, casual and firm and his hair falls into his eyes, now, and Sam is—he can’t.

Sam’s legs scramble, but Jack is an immobile weight on top of him. Sam is barefoot. His heels catch on the sheets and pull them into disarray, but that’s—all.

Again, “Jack,” and Jack mirrors, “Sam,” and a tiny smile curls over that mouth, like maybe he thinks this is a game, and Sam swallows and half-coughs with the pressure on his lungs.

Jack informs, “You don’t have to be scared at all. I know what I’m doing, you know. I did my research.”

Sam nods, huffs. “Okay. Okay.”

Jack frowns. “I’m making you feel good, so—it’s rude that you keep pushing me away. I can tell you liked how I kissed you, just now,” and Sam nods again, clears his throat.

“Yeah, I—yeah.”

“And that’s what I want. Make you feel good.”

“Okay.” Again, “Okay,” and Jack kisses his mouth again. Warm and wet and Sam forces himself to relax, melt into the bed. Don’t think too hard. Maybe don’t think at all, period.

Jack confesses, gently, “It feels very good for me, too.”

Sam thinks he nods.

Jack’s grip softens. His hands brush gently—across Sam’s knuckles, his wrists. Back up his chest, to the neckline of his shirt. He pulls at it, carefully. Not intending to pop a button, just—making room. Seeing. Feeling.

Jack kisses his clavicles. The top of his chest, the hint of his tattoo. Sam lets him. He does.

Jack wonders, “Is this okay?” and Sam nods, gets his shirt undone, brushed aside. Exposed to the room, he shivers. Jack runs his hands across his chest, cups his pecs like they’re actual tits. Lets his thumbs catch on Sam’s nipples, and maybe that one’s just an accident. Must be.

When the kid circles his thumbs, though, Sam’s hands—twitch.

Jack asks, “Yeah?” low and curious and Sam just blinks. Brings his hand to his mouth. Neither a shake nor nod. He has a feeling it won’t matter either way.

Jack—peppers kisses. Down Sam’s breastbone, through all that hair. Down the deep cut of his abs, all the way to his navel, and Sam’s leg jumps, then. Subconscious, ticklish. He huffs a noise, maybe, because Jack looks up for him. He hooks his fingers into the waistband of Sam’s jeans, Sam’s underwear, like he’s planning to just ruck them down, belt be damned.

Oh, God, Sam’s getting hard.

He tries, “Uhm,” just as Jack nuzzles down, face to crotch. Cuddles up to the half-chubbed line of Sam’s dick and something in Sam lurches for that, and his hand shoots down to Jack’s head to—what, push him off? Pull him in?

He ends up just cupping Jack’s head, carding through his hair. The kid (theirs) smiles at him for it, tooth gap and all. Giggles all excited. Rubs his face down again.

Sam hums a surprised, “Fuck,” when Jack opens his mouth over it, next.

Sucks, once and wet, and looks up to check what Sam’s reaction is. Does it again, one wide lap of his tongue across the now-damp denim, and, God.

God, did they lock the door at all?

“It’s good, right? The internet said so.” Sam doesn’t get much chance to reply, not with Jack squirming back up his body, cupping Sam’s bulge with one warm hand, smiling up at Sam. “Can you do mine? I tried with my hand before, but I can’t reach with my mouth.”

Sam just says, “Uhm,” and chases the singular squeeze of Jack’s hand as it already pulls back to busy itself elsewhere. Clatter of belt, pop and zip of jeans.

“It’s supposed to feel really nice,” and the kid just knees up his way until he’s straddling Sam’s chest, and Sam thinks to curl one hand over a thigh to tuck him backwards, slow him down. But Jack’s angling his too-wet dick towards his mouth already, already smears Sam’s lip with it and Sam thinks, stupidly, how they should have put some sort of kiddie safety software on every single electronic device.

Jack makes a soft, happy sound upon pushing himself past Sam’s easily parting lips. Across his tongue and into the back of Sam’s throat, and Sam half-gags, but Jack’s crowding in closer already, knees in and in and buries himself to the hilt, and he says, “Oh,” once and wondrous and Sam tries to swallow, but can’t.

Jack pulls back, speechless. Plunges back in, and Sam’s hands come up to hold on for real with Jack’s fingers gripping Sam’s hair, pinning him.

It’s twenty seconds of this, tops, before Jack trembles apart, buried deep and gasping, overwhelmed, and Sam can’t breathe with a pubic bone smothering his nose and a cock pulsing hard inside his throat. He gulps for air, miserably, once Jack finally pulls back.

Sam coughs, once; wipes at his chin. Hears Jack’s reverent, “Oh, _wow_ ,” has his eyes closed but feels and smells the heat of his cock on the side of his face, slick and sensitive and Jack grabs at it, jerks himself. Rides it out.

Sam turns his cheek so Jack can rub the last trickle of his load against his lips, his cheek.

Dumb, “Wow,” and a huff, and Sam feels himself—smiling. Panting.

He slides his palm over Jack’s still-clothed thigh. Down and below, pressing in hard so he gets contact despite the stretched fabric; cups Jack’s nuts, Jack’s ass.

Croaks, sheepishly, “Was that okay?” and Jack nods adorably, viciously.

“I want to do yours, next.”

Sam just hums along, follows that body with his hands. Gets his belt undone, his jeans. He raises his ass off the bed so Jack can get him naked like he wants, half-shoulders out of his flannel before Jack stops him, guides him to lie back down. Kisses him, one hand gentle on his chest while he wraps the other around Sam’s cock. Jerks along the entire length once, twice, and Sam hears himself groan despite himself. Feels his nuts pulling tight and Jack lets go of him, then, to cup those, tug at them.

Sam’s legs part entirely on their own.

Jack informs, matter of fact, “My mouth isn’t big enough,” and Sam chuckles, delirious.

“That’s, uhm, that’s,” _okay_ , he wants to add, but his voice chokes off at Jack’s fingers dipping lower, right down his taint and into the crack of his ass. Sam corrects, “Jack,” but all he gets is a suck to his tongue, a warm sigh against his teeth. Jack, angling one finger in, pushing inside.

Sam—balks.

Barely brought his hand up before Jack soothes, “No, I got this. I got you, Sam,” and Sam gets his thighs kneed back apart, gets another finger crammed inside of him, pushing deep, even though the first one has been too much already. Slick now, somehow, and Sam’s breath catches in his throat. Jack’s eager, “Wow, this feels…” and he doesn’t finish the thought. Doesn’t need to.

The kid pumps his fingers slow, testing; all the way to his knuckles. Curls them, inside, and Sam gasps, and Jack watches him intently.

“Here, right?” he asks, and does it again.

Sam’s cock throbs idly against his stomach. Against Jack’s forearm.

Jack confesses, “I want to put it in here,” and he even asks, “Can I?” and Sam nods, speechless, thoughtless.

God, it’s—it’s been way too long, since. Since anyone, really. He’ll blame it on that, later.

Jack moves so quick. Still-again hard and kneeling between Sam’s thighs, and Sam pulls his knees up, and he—helps. Palms himself apart so Jack can see better, get it right on the first try. Pops the head inside and Sam lets himself drop back into the bed for that, for that first aching stretch—doesn’t stop the kid from bulling in, burying himself completely, all those eager, young inches of him. God, don’t think. Don’t think about it.

Choked-off, “ _Sam_ ,” and God, they didn’t even get him out of his clothes.

Sam plucks at Jack’s shirt, rucks it up that stomach. Jack is already humping at him, already rutting into him. All bare, God, Sam didn’t even _think_ of that, he…

Slurred against his mouth: “You feel so good—i-it’s so hot, inside, and—” Jack interrupts himself to lick into Sam’s mouth, behind his teeth. Whimpers, overwhelmed. Sam lets him, wills himself soft, relaxed. Yanks Jack’s shirt over his head for him, that flannel still caught on his arms, his face all twisted with effort, with pleasure. Eyes closed, lost. God, Sam’s wet inside. Oh, he thinks, _grace_. Of course.

“It’s okay,” soothes Sam; held-off, tight. One hand cupping Jack’s neck, urging him on, the other now getting a hold of his own cock, milking it in time with Jack’s hurried, stumbling thrusts. “It’s okay, buddy, c’mon. It’s okay.”

Jack comes again with a violent gasp, a spasm of his back, his hips. Sam keeps him close, tight; feels him throbbing and emptying deep in his ass, slicking him even further, and Sam follows him with a sigh, a tremble all the way down his stomach. It’s over as fast as it was urgent, for both of them. Sam catches his breath with his hand still working, still stroking himself.

Jack huffs, tucks his face into the nape of Sam’s neck. Sam chuckles, pets at him, kisses behind his ear. He clenches just to be a tease, and Jack’s reaction is one adorable, shocked gasp. A squirm of his hips.

“Did you do that? Just now?”

Sam says, “Uh-huh,” and does it again. Jack whimpers. “Too much? Sorry.”

“Can we do it again? I want to do it again.”

Sam laughs, surprised, stunned, but he nods.

Jack mumbles, “So warm,” and grinds himself deep, chases it, slops through the mess he made.

Sam lets go of his dick to curl his arm around Jack’s sweaty little back instead.


End file.
